


Purity of Justice

by meanoldauthor



Series: Mean Old Lady [5]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Animal Death, Drug Use, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanoldauthor/pseuds/meanoldauthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nipton serves as the perfect object lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purity of Justice

_Cheep. Cheep—_

“Gah, nonono—” Adal dove for the mine. _Chee—_ She got a finger under the trigger plate and carefully lifted it off the road. “Christ on a _stick_. I find who’s throwin’ these everywhere m’gonna…”

She tucked it into the pack on her hip. It’d be worth a few caps, enough for a whiskey or two for that caravaner back at the Outpost. Woman was practically pickled, cheeks bright red from the liquor. The sniper up on the roof should have looked the same, fair as she was, burnt to nothing by the sun. Look to Nipton, she’d said. No traffic from it, columns of smoke—

_Cheep. Ch—_

“Son of a b—” Her knee cracked on the pavement, “ _bitch!_ ” she shouted, snatching at the mine. Her leather armor creaked as she pushed herself back up. Or maybe it was her joints. Fuck it all, if she knew she’d be this old twenty years ago, she’d have jumped off a cliff and had done.

Adal kept her eyes on the horizon, muttering blackly to herself at the sight of a creature or chirp of a mine. She’d bet good caps there was nothing wrong in Nipton, and this whole errand was for shit. And if that creepy-looking ghost of a Ranger went back on their deal for it, she’d ram a mine right down her throat. It was getting dark, she was hungry, and goddamn if she didn’t just want a bed somewhere and a bottle of something hard…

She stopped on the road, rubbing at her nose before letting go of a mighty sneeze. She sniffed and wiped at her face. There was smoke in the air. Not just the wood smell of a campfire, but the the stink of burnt garbage and—food. She shuddered. Food. That’s all. Nipton folk just didn’t know how to cook a damn piece of meat.

Her hand crept up to the butt of her sawed-off. In the dark, she could see the glow of fires in the town ahead, too large to be normal. Someone was running along the road, laughing and shouting to himself. “Smell that air! Couldn’t ya just drink it like booze?” He caught sight of her and changed course, splay-legged and clutching a bit of paper. “Who won the lottery? _I did!_ ”

“What the h—Keep your fuckin’ hands to yourself!” He tried to grab at her arms, and Adal shoved him off with the butt of her gun. “The hell happened in Nipton?”

He stumbled back, braying laughter. “The _lottery_ came to town, bitch! And I fucking _won!_ ”

Adal watched him go, screaming into the night. Her knuckles were white on her shotgun, turning back to the road. A fire was set on the path through the town, a mass of fallen trees and tires. She clenched her teeth as she walked, past the sign for Nipton, squinting at the banners on either side of the road. In the dark, she almost couldn’t make out the symbol on them. The breeze set one to fluttering, and she felt her heartbeat in her throat as the firelight caught the golden bull upon it. _Turn back. Turn back now. Tell them the Legion was here, that’s all they need to know._

She started to turn. Her feet dragged in the dirt, eyes not leaving the flag.

_Coward._

She bared her teeth. _Coward. Never went back. Never tried to find them. Scared of what you’d see._ She closed her eyes, trying to shut it out, but the little voice was old and familiar and had its hooks set deep. _Pay for it. Walk. You deserve to see it, weakling._

Her bones nearly creaked, her muscles were drawn so tight. Adal was two steps into the town before she even realized. She raised her eyes from the road, the cold feeling in her guts far away. The men on their crosses were too far gone to see her, caught in agony, laboring to breathe. Some already hung limp, heads lolling.

 _You couldn’t save them. Didn’t try._ One last cross was being raised, and she watched, remote, sucking air through a straw. _How many more died like this when you went West?_

A Legionary turned to her, a dog’s pelt perched on his head. His eyes were hidden under some sort of mask, but she saw the arrogant, assured smile as he caught sight of her. “Don’t worry, I won’t have you lashed to a cross like one of these degenerates.” Any other time, it might have been a pleasant voice, light and smooth. He sauntered towards her, and the other Legionaries came to attention, eyeing her weapons. “It’s useful that you happened by.”

She made herself focus, digging her fingernails into her palm. “Useful?” she grated. His hood, _like the hoods of the Walker but savage and ugly_ its empty eyes staring at her, mocking…

He looked around the town, and she followed his gaze. The bodies piled upon the fire were still sizzling and snapping in the heat. One of their dogs lapped at blood pooled at the base of a pole, a head fixed at its point. “If I may say so, I have created a poetic scene. Nipton was a town of whores and degenerates. Seeing it cleansed is…Satisfying.” He turned back to her, cold and predatory. “Not one of them fought back as we brought them to justice. They _watched_ as their ‘loved ones’ were butchered, crucified, burned, given judgment for their moral sickness and dissolution.”

Adal could hear the blood pounding in her ears, the edges of her vision dark. She could taste the smoke on her tongue, feel the eyes of the crucified men on her. _Felt the pain, bullets through her flesh, body burning from exhaustion._

The man tipped his head at her silence, a mockery of the dog pelt he wore, a mockery of the Walker who watched her scream... “Have we left you speechless?”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see.

“Then remain here, woman.” The legionary waved an arm, as though showing off a prize. The motion brought her back, and she tensed, waiting for an attack. “Take your time. Enjoy the sights. Remember every detail here. Let it be known this will be the first of many lessons taught to the profligate West by Caesar’s Legion.”

He gestured to his men, and they formed into tidy ranks, marching east. She made herself blink, eyes gritty, and swallow down the lump in her throat. Eight. Eight of them, and her alone.

_You failed last time, too. Now you’re old, soft, a whiskey-soaked hag. They’d kill you before you got close._

She turned, tripping on her own feet as she headed back down the road.

_Weak._

Reaching into her pack, she groped after a bottle, anything that might drown the thoughts whispering, chasing in circles through her head. She felt something hard and unfamiliar, and pulled it out to stare. The light on the top of the mine gleamed back at her.

_Coward. You think they’re stupid enough to walk into them?_

The Legionaries were out of sight, behind the buildings. They had kept to the road, which hooked right past…

_Have the grace to die this time._

Adal bared her teeth and crept between the buildings, keeping her footfalls soft. She could hear them to her left, the scuff and tramp of people moving in a group. The path wound around a low hill, and she skipped ahead, a mine tucked under her arm and another in hand. She nearly dropped one as she came to a halt, holding her breath as she trapped it against her leg.

She shot a look down the road, heart in her mouth. The sounds were closer, and she scrambled back around the curve, checking the distance to the town and cover. Crouched in the shadows, she patted in her pockets, stuffing a stimpak through the back of her belt, coming up with a dose of Med-X. In the front pocket with that, quick to reach. Another quick rummage came up with a heavier syringe, cruder, something scavenged off a raider. It had sat in her pack, something she hadn’t had the nerve to use but couldn’t bring herself to part with.

She jumped at the flash and concussion of the mines, followed by panicked shouts. One of them staggered away from the blast and into view, catching sight of her. He pointed, wiping at the soot and blood on his face. “Profligate!”

Adal rammed the needle into her leg, the Psycho burning cold and making her hiss. It’d ache for days—if she lived so long. A bullet sent up a spray of dirt beside her, and she surged up, cracking off a shot with her sawed-off. The Legionary flinched, but was too far for the scattergun to do much harm. “Come on!” she screamed, voice tight and harsh. She imagined the chem working into her system, making her feel hot and light and fierce. She laughed aloud as they charged, falling back towards the town. _”Come get me!”_

She got the drop on the first as he rounded a corner, wedging the shotgun against his neck and pulling the trigger. She broke the weapon as he fell, kicking out the spent shells and fumbling for more. A growl and a scrabbling sound was all the warning she got before one of the mongrels lunged at her. She raised an arm to defend, and it bawled as its teeth met the metal of her Pip-boy. A Legionary was on its tail, and she jerked the animal into his line of fire. He swore, it yelped, and Adal threw it towards him.

A blast behind her, and an impact on her shoulder. The pain was slower to hit her as she wheeled, plugging more rounds into the shotgun. She emptied both of them into the Legionary as he tried to dodge back, but she didn’t see him drop, jerked backwards. The first one wrapped his arm around her neck, dragging her head back to expose her throat. A machete flashed in the corner of her vision, and her hand closed on his wrist. She clawed at him, but he clung on, the blade inching closer. Twisting, she got her teeth into his arm, enough to make him swear and his grip slacken. Adal slammed the back of her head into his face, wrenching the machete out of his hand and burying it in his gut.

She fell back into the main road of the town, reloading, trying to spot the rest. A bite in her back, her leg, made her turn two legionaries sighting on her with rifles. The Psycho pounding in her ears, she bared her teeth and charged. They hit her again, again, and she screamed, following as the nearest one tried to leap away. She tackled him down, bashing his head into the pavement. The other kicked her off, sending her sprawling. As she turned to him, he shot a look down the road, backing away.

She rolled to meet a gout of flame. Scrambling from the heat, she caught a glimpse of the legionary holding a flamer, the dog-pelted one behind him. Adal snarled as she got the corner of a building between them, smelling singed hair and skin. She grabbed the Med-X in her pocket, swearing as she fumbled it. The hiss and roar of the flamer had her on her feet, barely able to see the man holding it behind the roll of fire. She dashed for the next corner of the building, running full-on into the Legionary trying to flank her.

He fired, but she didn’t feel the shot if it landed, throwing her weight into a punch at his throat. He gagged, folding as he tried to take a breath. She ripped the SMG out of his hands and grabbed him by the front of his armor, forcing him around the corner. The flamer lit up again, immolating him. She ran wide past him, trying to shut out the strangled way he screamed. The one with the flamer was bright in its light, an easy target. He cut off the stream, shouting distress at his companion. She opened fire with the stolen gun, grinning wild and vicious at a cry of pain. The burst cut off, and she scrabbled at the action, trying to clear the jam. The flamer was coming to bear again, and she lunged, using the gun as a bludgeon. There was a dull _crack_ from his head, even as he dropped the weapon and went for his machete. Twice, again, until blood flowed and bone splintered.

A burn in her back, and a mechanical growl. The feeling scaled up into pain, and she screamed as she twisted away. The head legionary, the dog-pelted man faced her, expression full of cold fury. He was spattered with her blood, the Ripper in his hands still raised, teeth gleaming in the firelight. He feinted left, then rushed at her right. Her arm was slow to respond, and she gave the wounds there a confused look. The Ripper bit into her side, and she clamped down on his wrist, digging her fingers into the tendons to weaken his grip. He shook her off, swinging for her throat. Adal ducked, yanking the knife from her boot and driving the point at his gut. He hissed, leaping back, holding a hand to the trail of blood.

She staggered away, and they sized each other up, he with his weapon raised, wary, and her starting to sway. The bullet wounds, burns, strains from pressing herself were making themselves known, the Psycho rush leaving her and making her slow and stupid.

“You’re failing, profligate,” he said, starting to circle. Adal forced herself into a fighting crouch, keeping the knife between them. “Do you feel it? The darkness closing in?” He took a step closer, and she slashed at him, meeting empty air. “You are already dead, woman.”

Adal grunted, lunging again, but he matched her step-for step, making it a dance. “You have fought well. I’ll spare you the indignity of a cross,” he said, darting in to strike at her arm. She deflected it, but he was away before her knife could land. “But you have caused much grief here, slaughtered my men.” He pressed forward, and her feet caught on the uneven road. The Legionary bore her down, driving a knee into her stomach. He gripped her by the throat, snarling, “I _will_ see your head on a pike and your hide as a trophy.”

She got one hand on the Ripper, the other grasping at his face. His teeth caught the light from the pyres, shaking his head as she clawed at him. Adal drove her thumb into his eye, making him flinch away, but he was too heavy, and she too weak.

_Weak._

Adal tried to suck a breath. There were stars in her vision.

_Weak then, too._

The Ripper was lowering, blood dripping off the edge to fall on her face, her neck.

_You enjoyed what they did to you._

There was blood in her mouth, pain in her bones. “None will stand against the might of Caesar’s Legion,” he grated, forcing the weapon closer.

_They stood around her, watching, staring, doing nothing to help as she screamed and begged—_

She let go of his arm, jerking her head aside. The Ripper slammed into the pavement, putting the Legionary off-balance. She heaved, the two of them sent rolling, struggling to pin the other. The weapon growled, digging into her ribs. The pain shot through her whole chest, the motor grinding to a halt against bone. Drawing up her legs, she heaved, kicking him off into the dirt. The Legionary caught himself, smoothly rolling to his feet. Adal tore the Ripper free from where it had bound itself on her ribs, throwing herself at him. The pain was somewhere dull and distant, even though she could feel him clawing at her wounds, trying to make her flinch. She grabbed at the pelt, dragging it over his face. He let go to pull it loose, and the saw was at his throat.

He gagged, trying to arch away, blood and bits of flesh falling onto her. She pressed until the weapon jammed, his hands still spasming on her arms. Adal grunted and threw his weight aside, sucking for air as she stared up at the sky. She hurt, she hurt like back then, body screaming, chest aching and burning. The stars were twinkling through the smoke from the burning town, and she waited for them to fade. _Die this time, like you should have._

They stayed bright. She could feel the blood running from her wounds, could almost count the bullets lodged in her. Her breathing hitched as she rolled, dragged the stimpak from her belt and stabbed it into her shoulder. Laying on her side, she forced herself up by inches, creaking and moaning under her breath. She felt like a newborn, weak and splay-legged and covered in blood, looking blearily at the world. The dead Legionary was at her feet, his face frozen in a snarl of pain and anger.

 _They meant to put you up like a signpost._ Their fight had taken them to the foot of the town hall’s steps, ringed with spikes and crosses. _Like this town._

A spear had fallen, dropped by a Legionary. She wheezed as she reached down, grunted as she screwed the blunt end in the dirt. _Meant to have your corpse warn off the rest._

Adal bit at the inside of her mouth as she levered his body up, tamping down the scream. She heaved him up and set the point to his back, falling to her knees and gasping for air as his weight drove it through his body. The pelt slid from his head, and she grabbed it as she rose, impaling its skull on the spearpoint. A bloody handprint was left across its face.

She looked around her at the dead, the fires of homes set ablaze. She turned back down the road to the Outpost.

The Legion wanted examples? The Legion wanted war?

With blood on her teeth and bitter smoke on her tongue, Adal would give it back tenfold.


End file.
